The Perfect Creation
by GilroyQuinn
Summary: An attempt to address the issues of the "standard" OC story. Questions such as "What can motivate someone to invite potentially dangerous people to a school?", "How much can those characters truly affect Beacon?", and more importantly, "What kind of character can just step into a school and be seen as important by everyone?" Rated T for now, possibly M in later chapters.
1. Prologue - Welcome to Deconstruction

**THE PERFECT CREATION**

Written by Gilroy B. Quinn  
Rated T/M (will change to M for blood and dark themes in later chapters)

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**DISCLAIMER:** With the exception of any original characters and concepts, all mentioned and referenced characters, locations and other things are owned by Monty Oum and Rooster Teeth. Please support the official release!

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Hello! My _na__me_ is **A**_sce_**lin** _Se_**thos**.

I'm very certain none of _you_ reading this know who I am. That's expected. After all, I am **on**_ly_ a **gra**_du_**ate** of Beacon Academy and essentially at the bottom of the food chain. But that will change very soon. With the amount of good eyes on me by both the students and professors and whispers of curiosity going about, I'm sure that my name will become newsworthy in just a matter of time. If my presence already makes them interested, I'm sure that the abilities I'll put on display will _dazzle them out of their minds_. Yes, I am very confident that before the next four years are over and done with, _my name will be remembered by all that know me._

Allow me to tell you a bit about myself – quite the enjoyable past-time, I have to admit. You see, I was born from – YCUMO**STOP**TCCTT**LIE**PSDII**EXECUTE** – born in a small, humble village on the edge of Vale. My parents were poor and couldn't afford much to support me alongside themselves. But thanks to us being near a forest with plenty of resources, we could easily live off the land. To save money, they took to hunting fauna and flora to bring back for consumption. All in all, we were as content as the rest of the people in that village. I couldn't have asked for a better setting to be in, regardless of its lacking of modern technology.

But it was because of that lack of technology that we failed to see it coming, _never had a chance to see it coming_.

A hurricane came in from the ocean, sweeping over the area of Vale in which our village resided. Out of all the things that could've threatened our civilization, no one expected such a storm to be one of them. Because they weren't expecting it, they weren't prepared. Because they weren't prepared, they paid for it. Winds tore apart the homes, blew them and the residents in the air only to send them hurtling miles away from the location. The rain was pounding everything so hard, the droplets were little less than bullets on the skin. A few seconds into the storm, and everything within that village had been consumed completely. When it was all over, there was nothing and no one left. It was such a display of destruction, a perfect example of annihilation and the true power of Mother Nature.

Only I survived to be picked up by Vale recovery agents. While residing in a shelter alongside **vic**_tims _like myself, I was approached by one Headmaster Ozpin and one Glynda Goodwitch. They were instructors of Beacon, from what they had told me. They saw great potential in me, inviting me to join their prestigious Academy. With no other place and no one to turn to, I accepted their proposal. That was how I found myself riding on one of their ships and waiting for initiation alongside other potential students. Knowing that, I shouldn't have so many looks of positive interest in my direction. I shouldn't have people walking up to me in an attempt to be my friend, when they've only barely gotten to know _me_ – **STOP**YEWCSE**HALF**JSSABP**EXECUTE –**. But as I said, that is just fine. As long as the amount of my allies vastly outnumber that of my enemies, I have no problems with my **un**e_x_**pect**_ed _reception.

Unfortunately, this story will not be told from**TOTUWEK**my perspective of things. It shall be told by another team of hopefuls, a group of four that will be known as**mYbeLOvEdneMesES**team ERTH. Each one of them carries some dark or tragic background that has molded them into what they are and how they came to be. This tale will follow them through their starts, their mutual journey and their _ends_ of the path that they will trek. However, it will also center around me and my own adventures... from a distant standpoint. It is disappointing, I know. But the end of the tale certainly will satisfy everyone involved.

So, come in. **Come** _in_**to** _my_ **world** and _learn_.

_You might even come out as a new person._


	2. Question 1 - Why Are You Here?

**A/N:** Hello! Just here to mark a few notes before sending you off to the very first chapter of my very first story.

This story is an attempt to practice deconstruction, the process of breaking apart a certain concept for analysis and better understanding. It will focus on traits of the "standard" OC story, answering several questions one might get while reading it. This chapter in particular moves to answer questions of the scenario where the target OC just happens to be near the "From Dust Till Dawn" scene when it commences, such as "Why is he/she there?" and "Just how much can his/her presence affect the events of canon?"Hopefully, there will be people who see the answers presented as plausible and agreeable.

Please review and critique if you can. Every review lets me know how I can possibly improve the quality of the story. Thank you, and enjoy!

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**CHAPTER ONE: Why Are You Here?**

When one hears the phrase "the dead of night", they usually don't expect an area to literally fit the metaphor. Yet in the city of Vale, where the moon and its fragments hovered silently in the sky, the phrase would've perfectly fit at the moment. It was very unusual; while there would normally be at least a few stragglers on the sidewalks or a few vehicles traversing the roads, there was nothing to be seen on this particular night. Not even the alleys' rats and cats' attempts to salvage contents of trash cans could be heard. In one of the rarest moments you would see, the city had entirely secluded itself from the outside.

Well, almost.

There was one solitary figure riding the sidewalk with a casual swagger. His attire was as informal as his gait, consisting of a sweater jacket with a dark green front and back alongside dark brown sleeves, black fingerless gloves, blue cargo pants and brown loafers with black socks. Notably, he was a teenager with a light brown skin color that contrasted with the pale-skinned residents of Vale, a top ponytail that billowed in the slight chilly winds of the night and greenish-orange eyes that frequently scanned his side of the street. But the most notable thing about his natural appearance was the wolf ears that comfortably sat on his crown. The happening of a Faunus walking the streets at night would've spelled something troubling in the eyes of watchful citizens, and they would've been quick to voice it.

Unfortunately, not only such comments would've been biased and racist, but they would also be right on the money. This particular Faunus was in the process of seeking out a target building, a Dust store, but not just any Dust store. Under the order of a secretive leader, he was looking out for the "From Dust Till Dawn" shop, though the reasons for singling it out was unknown to him. It put a damper on what would've normally been eagerness for his assignment. But he wasn't one to question Lien, especially Lien that could be obtained in such an easy fashion. With the city being little more than a ghost town, the only thing that could have possibly stood in his way was the elderly shopkeeper. Against an athletic young man like himself, he wouldn't serve as much of an obstacle.

It was an uneventful walk to the shop, and it wasn't long before the wolf Faunus stopped near the front of the store. Slipping a hand into a jacket pocket, he pulled out a scroll and tapped the screen to awaken it. He only needed a few seconds to check the time before putting the scroll back to sleep and slipping it back into his pocket. "A few minutes behind schedule," He muttered, idly surveying the store's entrance. "But I'm sure he won't mind. This won't even last for a few minutes."He took in a deep breath, shaking his head a little as he mentally prepared himself for what was about to come. When he was certain he was ready, he moved to the door and opened it.

The jingle of the bell and a kiss of air slightly cooler than the air outside was there to greet him. He didn't focus immediately on the shopkeeper, who regarded him with slight surprise. Instead, he allowed his vision to travel to the crystals in the glass cages, the machines that transferred Dust to portable containers. It was such a nice-looking shop, and it almost made the wolf regret what he was about to do.

Almost.

His attention turned to the senior when he spoke up."Hello there, young man!" He said, giving a pleasant smile. "Surprising to see customers this late, but how might I help you?"

The teen decided to go straight to the point. He approached the counter the keeper was behind, lowering his hand to the side of his waist. "Well, to start off," He replied, keeping his gaze locked on his target. "I'd like you to sit back, relax and cooperate with me so there aren't any problems."

A clench of the fingers, a swing of the wrist and suddenly the shopkeeper's face changed from confusion to terror as he found himself staring down the barrel of a high-caliber revolver. Even as he threw his hands up in surrender, the Faunus didn't react to it. "Secondly," He continued, keeping a casual and almost friendly tone of voice even as he kept the gun leveled. "I'd appreciate it if you fetched me all the Lien you got. Double-time, old timer."

"Please don't hurt me!" The shopkeeper begged, quickly moving his hands behind the counter to meet the demand. "I'm getting the money, okay? Please don't shoot!"Judging by the quickness of compliance, the wolf assumed the keeper to be a victim of previous robberies prior to this one. It made him a bit ashamed knowing that he was adding another statistic. But this was a job, and he didn't skimp out on his assignments. But as he watched the shopkeeper hastily shove Lien into a case, he began to wonder. Would it matter if he brought some or all of the pay back?

He was going to test his luck.

"Say, what's your name?"

The wolf's sudden question caused the shopkeeper to stop his motions. Through the fear, confusion peeked once again. "What?" He asked in hesitation.

"Your name." The wolf repeated, rolling his eyes. "You know, the one your parents gave you? The thing that just about every pair of parents give to their children?"

"Um..." After fully registering the question, the shopkeeper pulled himself from his stupor. "It's Gwyn. My name is Gwyn."

This satisfied the wolf enough for him to produce a second question. "You got a family, Gwyn?"

Bewilderment crossed Gwyn's features at the second strange inquiry, and he almost responded with a question of why his robber would want to know such things. But he knew that as long as he had a loaded firearm pointed at his temple, any possible retorts could and would be silenced with a pull of a trigger. So he had to keep feeding. "Well," He said, putting forth honesty in his words. "The only one is my son, who's trying to raise a daughter of his own alongside his wife. He's in poor financial condition, and this shop was intended to help both him and myself out." The last sentence was spoken with a tint of sorrow, and he looked down at the counter – an action that caused the wolf's eyes to flicker for a moment.

"If you take all of my money, it'll cripple us." That was when Gwyn looked up, pleading in his squinted eyes. "Please, have mercy on me."

Silence. Now, the wolf's expression was showing light signs of conflict as he looked at the elderly man. Had it been a more traditional robber, the old man's pleas certainly would've been ignored and rougher treatment would have been applied. But this one respected the elderly, never liking getting them in the way of his work. Of course, he could be making up a pity story to prevent himself from getting robbed. But even in that case, he couldn't keep his heart from overriding his mind. After hearing such words, he simply couldn't bring himself to take everything he could even if it was to satisfy his boss. He was going to have to compromise here, if he didn't want to leave with a guilty conscience.

"All right, old man." He said, briefly tipping his pistol briefly towards the counter. "You know how much you got?"

"Yes?" Gwyn replied with hesitation.

"I want you to give me sixty-percent of that. You can keep the rest."

And just like that, the majority of apprehension was washed away. A relieved smile came across Gwyn's face, and he nodded fervently. He knew that he was still getting the short stick, but it was better than no stick. "Yes, of course!" He said, continuing to fill the rest of the case with the desired amount of Lien. "Thank you for your mercy!"

"Yeah, yeah." The wolf muttered, rolling his eyes. "Just hurry it up before I change my mind."

Unfortunately, that was when things took a turn for the unexpected.

The click of a gun sounding behind him caused both of them to freeze up, their eyes widening. While the wolf couldn't turn around to see the source, the old man could. Whatever he saw made the gratitude in his expression give way to fear, his skin paling and his mouth uttering a subdued, "Oh Dust...". That was enough to say whoever it was wasn't the police. The gunman bit down on his bottom lip in frustration, indignant that he was getting caught up in another robber's hold-up on his territory. But both anger and nervousness would rise once he heard the culprit speak.

"And just what exactly do we have here?" The tone of voice was as informal as a game reviewing magazine yet conceited as blue blood. The figure it belonged to a ginger in what could be described as the common attire for a mafia boss. Specifically, his clothing consisted of a bowler hat resting comfortably on the crown, a white suit coat with a red collar, a gray scarf, black gloves, black pants and black shoes. He had a cane leveled at the Faunus's head, with the bottom open to expose the tunnel of a rifle barrel. Flanking him was a set of four men in red shades, black suits with red ties and black shoes. All of them were armed with varying weapons of their own, cementing the futility of resistance. There was only one man he knew that spoke like that and be accompanied by such dangerous individuals.

Roman Torchwick.

The wolf's lips bit back a swear and his eyes narrowed into a piercing glare that only Gwyn would see. He heard Roman's footsteps approach, his voice continuing to grate his ears. "Not only do I find that some street punk happening to interfere with my profit," The barrel of the cane jabbed at the back of the wolf's head, earning a low growl. "But I also see that street punk just happens to be a mutt. You'll get the newspaper for sure if your master knows you're out of the house this late at night."

"Kiss off, Torchwick." The wolf snapped, his lips curling back to expose lengthened and sharpened canines. "I got here first, so how about you get lost?"

The immediate response was a smack of the cane at one of his leg joints, causing him to yelp and fall on one knee. He attempted to spin around and aim his revolver at the thug, but stopped himself from even beginning to move when he heard the cane click again. But at the very least, he could pick up a lace of irritation in Roman's voice when he spoke up again. "You're not in a position to tell me what to do, dog." He chided, moving around so that he was flanking his victim. This prompted the wolf to turn eyes towards him, their gazes meeting. "You see, when I'm interested in something, I don't stop for anything or anyone when I go after it. I certainly don't plan on stopping just because some child with a toy shooter told me to. Now either you can be a good doggie and run along," He pressed the barrel against the wolf's face, allowing the cold steel to become intimate with his prey's skin. "Or I can take you out back and put you down. Your choice."

With death literally looming over his head, the wolf started sweating a little. His gun was in hand and ready to shoot, but pointed at a far-off angle. Any attempts to turn it in the right direction would result in him getting sent to an early grave. Upon that reasoning, it would've been more sensible to just leave and be glad he was still breathing. But that would also be giving the prejudicing crime boss exactly what he wanted, and the wolf leaned a lot on his pride. So although he was nervous, he still maintained a glare and remained silent to the demand. Naturally, Roman took it as a sign of defiance, although he also seemed to take it with a grain of salt.

"Rebellious mutt, aren't you? Fine by me." With that, he motioned one of his rifle-wielding henchmen over to his side. "Deal with this one, then you and the rest of them grab the Dust. We're on a time limit here, and I prefer not to get behind more than I already have!"

He lowered his cane from the boy's face and stepped back, allowing the henchmen to take his position. The henchmen was situated right behind the wolf, his rifle pressed against the back of the head. He tightened his grip on the trigger, hissing a few words to his soon-to-be victim. "Any last words, wolf boy?"

It was ridiculous. One moment, he had been poised to rob a helpless old man and be done with it. In the next minute, he was caught up in another person's heist as a victim about to be executed. It wasn't how the night had been planned to go, and it upset him greatly to see his job jeopardized like this. But he had his wits about him enough to know that it wasn't ruined completely. There was a lesson he had learned in his childhood, long before this moment; if you still can move and breathe, then you still have the opportunity to change your situation. The saner of individuals wouldn't have dared to even think about what he was about to do. But as far as he was concerned, it was the only way he could get back on top of things.

So with a thin smile on his face, he answered with this statement. "Just a teeny tiny little question. How long does it take to beat a moron to death?"

"What-"

That was all the henchmen got before the wolf swiftly released his hold on his pistol. The weapon abruptly being tossed away caused the gunman's eyes to divert towards it for a brief moment – a moment that his hostage didn't hesitate to advantageously use. He pulled one of his arms back, crashing an elbow into the suited man's kidney. When he staggered back in surprise and pain, the wolf pushed himself backward to repeat the notion. With the additional momentum put into the second strike, the minion involuntarily dropped his weapon and keeled over. The wolf reached over his shoulder to grasp one of his target's arms before twisting himself around in a 360-degree spin. In turn, this took his hapless executor off his feet and along for the ride. At the end of the spin, the wolf released his catch and sent him flying into the far wall. The shopkeeper, meanwhile, saw this as an opportunity to duck behind his counter in an attempt to keep himself protected from the oncoming storm.

This would unintentionally bring another element into the scenario.

None of them would notice the girl in the red hood, situated near the back and reading a weapons magazine. In turn, she wouldn't notice what was going on due to her ears being graced with headphones and the song "This Will Be The Day" blasting her drums. Had the wolf not hurled his target to her proximate position, she would've sat there through the whole event. But her music, loud as it was, would not prevent her from hearing the crash the henchmen produced as he collided with the shelf beside her. This, along with the multitude of Dust supplies that fell on him, caused her to jerk her head up in surprise. She turned to look at the beaten suit, taking both her hood and headphones off as she regarded him with confusion.

"Huh?"

Her dumbfounded question was answered with a battle-driven yell, and she turned her eyes to see the scenario unfold.

The wolf had twisted himself around to face a shocked Roman and an equally shocked trio of henchmen. With a snarling scream as raw as uncooked meat, he barreled towards the crime boss with murderous hands. But before he could reach his target, he was intercepted by the remaining bodyguards. A boot to the chest from one caused the wolf to stagger back, allowing his three adversaries to charge in and Roman to back away. The crime boss's movements caught her eye, and as she visually locked on to him, she could immediately identify him. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she was quick to shout a "Hey!" after him before breaking into a run. The wolf and his foes were of little concern to her compared to the big fish.

The girl's intervention, however, would be of notice to the wolf.

When he caught her running past him, his eyes flashed with frustration and panic. But with targets converging on him, he couldn't address her at that moment. He clenched his teeth as he stopped himself to meet his attackers head on, dodging the swipe of one's katana before dancing around him. When his immediate assailant turned around, he was met with an elbow to the chest. A quick follow-up round kick sent him to the ground, putting him out of the picture. As the other two moved to flank him, he swung a leg to strike one's leg joint. He moved his leg like a pinball, rebounding from the strike to deliver a back kick to the other's stomach. As the affected doubled over, the wolf spun himself around to deliver a front kick to the chest. It was enough to join the victim with his fellow fallen colleagues, leaving one more to deal with. For that one, all the wolf had to do was duck under a sword swipe, twirl himself around on the ground and sweep the bodyguard's legs out from underneath him. He hit the ground with the back of his head first, taking himself instantly out of the battle. Within a time span of seconds and with only his bare hands, he had dispatched all four of his foes.

But he didn't have time to celebrate, as far as he was concerned. With a scoop of his discarded weapon, he raced outside to follow the two.

Roman, meanwhile, had stopped himself when he saw that there was someone tailing him. He twisted around, pointing his cane at the scythe-wielding female. An aiming reticle lifted near the barrel, allowing him to line up his sights with her and causing her to stop in her tracks. His eyes narrowed when he saw the wolf race out the door and take a distant position beside her, aiming the revolver at him. Clearly, they weren't in cahoots with one another, as they briefly exchanged scrutinizing glances at each other before settling back on him. As Roman took the time to study the boy, his mind fell back to the considerable hand-to-hand skill used in taking down his mercenaries. It was a rarity to see gangsters capable of using official forms of martial arts, especially in full effectiveness. There was only one prominent gang he knew of in Vale that had access to such fighting techniques.

As he studied the wolf more carefully, he decided to tend to the matter of his own curiosity than escape. "Say, what's your name, kid?"

The girl, believing the question to be directed towards her, was taken aback and reflexively put together her response. "Uh, Ruby Rose?" She presented, earning Roman's eye. In turn, he gave a roll of his eyes.

"As nice as it is to know that, Red," He drawled, the sarcasm dripping from his voice like water from a wet towel. "I was talking to the mutt."

"What's it to you?" Although caught off-guard by the question, the wolf wasn't so ready to hand information about himself over to his enemy. He didn't hold back the defiance and hostility when he verbally fired back. But all it did was prompt Roman to give a small shrug of the shoulders.

"Oh, I just thought it'd be pleasing if I knew the name of the one who thrashed my workers so quickly and easily, even if they probably weren't even worth the money I paid for them. Come on, don't be a killjoy here." The acknowledgment of the wolf's skills caused a slight smirk to appear on the face of the praised. It was always enjoyable for him to hear people talk positively about his fighting abilities, even if the reception came from an enemy. That was enough for him to give the appropriate response back.

"Eachann."

"Eachann?" Roman repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Eachann Darcy."

"Sounds like a pretty weird name to me." Ruby quipped.

"Shut it, goth girl!" The established Eachann fired back, momentarily shooting a glare at her before looking back at Roman. Slight alarm flashed on his and her face when they saw the crime lord grin, their caution increasing when he started chuckling. "And just what's so funny all of a sudden, Torchwick? Does the image of me turning you into a puddle entertains you?"

"So that was it, then..." Roman muttered, mostly to himself than the two young warriors. "You're _his_, aren't you?"

"What?"

The emphasis of bemusement would get no farther than the according expression on both Eachann and Ruby's face and the former's vocalizing before Roman made his move. Taking advantage of their momentary confusion, he pulled the trigger on his cane and launched an explosive flare at them. They barely reacted in time, jumping out of the way to avoid getting caught in the blast. The small shock wave was enough to displace their landing, causing them to crash unceremoniously onto the ground. They were quick to push themselves back up on their feet, their eyes falling onto where Roman was. But the crime lord had vanished from his spot, having used the shot as little more than a distraction. It wasn't long before they spotted him again, standing at the top of an apartment building and overlooking a ladder. He used a free hand to take off his hat and doff it at the two before stepping away from the ladder, disappearing from their sight.

"No!" Ruby cried out, moving to follow right after Roman. "He's getting away!"

But she didn't expect the click of a gun to sound in her ear, the sound stopping her in her tracks. Her eyes, shocked and slightly fearful, turned to see the barrel of Eachann's revolver staring her down. As she looked up from it, she would find herself staring into his cold and impassive gaze. The fear and shock blended together, and she found herself asking the most appropriate of questions. "What are you doing?"

The only response she got was a trigger pull and a Dust round to her face.

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"...give me a few minutes. There's something I'd like to address before I retreat." With that being said, Roman slipped the smartphone-sized scroll in his pocket and turned to face the direction of the ladder. That was when he heard the gunshot from below, his eyes widening briefly in surprise. A grin once again graced his countenance, and he placed his cane in front of him while resting both hands on its head. "Oh, how did I not notice it before?" He asked rhetorically, chuckling to himself. "Roman, you silly devil, you've got to pick up on these things."

Following that statement, he saw Eachann's form reach the top of the ladder and move onto the roof. He took one of his hands to give a mocking wave as he saw the revolver pointed at him once again. "Now that was a rather cruel thing to do!" He chided. "Shooting an ally down like that? She was a child, nonetheless! Don't you even know what a conscience is?"

"She was going to try and deal with you herself." Eachann said dismissively, restrained anger caressing each and every word. "If there's anyone that's going to take you on, it's going to be me and me alone."

But despite the frost around his statement, all it did was make Roman chuckle again. "Yes, there's no denying it now." He said, giving a shrug of the arms. "I should have figured it out right away when you dispatched the first of my escorts. The fighting style, the delicious ruthlessness and the uncanny resemblance? How could I have not? Though I can't help but wonder," His eyes sparkled with malicious curiosity. "What exactly was Briscoe thinking, sending his son on a job like this?"

_Briscoe._

The mention of that particular name caused indignant shock to flare across his expression, and he nearly pulled the trigger. "Excuse me?" He hissed, his voice dripping with the venom of a hungry snake. "How exactly does a pretty boy like you know my dad?"

Roman scoffed incredulously, lifting the cane up and wrapping a hand around the shaft. "You mean you didn't know? And here I thought that was common knowledge." He began to approach Eachann, his gait nonchalant even in the face of the volatile gun. "Everyone knows about your dad, pup. Everyone knows he's a kingpin, a top dog in the criminal business. When people hear his name, they either fear it, loathe it or respect it." He stopped walking when he was close enough. "I, for one, can say he's the only one out of your kind that has actually managed to impress me. So I know better than to lay a hand on his precious son."

Eachann sneered at this. "Oh, please don't tell me you're trying to be the honorable type all of a sudden."

"Au contraire, pup." Roman was ready to counteract the subtle accusation with a smirk attached. "I just prefer not to be on the receiving end of his wrath."

Once again, the unexpected came to punctuate that statement. Eachann's ears flattened against his head when they picked up the loud roar of a Bullhead's engines. He shut his eyes and momentarily turned away when the ship appeared, needing to keep the wind and light out of his eyes. But when he opened them back up, he saw that his target had once again pulled a disappearing act. Before he knew it, the crime boss was hanging out the entry point of the Bullhead and tauntingly waving his cane. The wolf growled in frustration, raising his pistol at the man in a last-ditch effort to gain his kill.

But Roman was faster. Another flare from his cane, masked by the lights of the gunship, came hurtling towards its target. Although the telltale whistle gave its presence away, Eachann wasn't expecting another attack during an escape. As such, he was hit with the explosive projectile and thrown off his feet. Roman laughed at the sight before using his cane's hook to grab the hatch. "Adios, kid!" He shouted, shutting the entry and himself from the wolf's sight. The Bullhead took off, leaving the area as quickly as it had come.

And so, Eachann was left alone on that apartment rooftop. He snorted as he pushed himself to his feet, angry at the turn of events. "Mr. Fancy comes into rain on my parade and then takes off, just like that." He grumbled, securing the revolver within its holster before turning away from the spot where the Bullhead had been. His feet started carrying him back to the ladder. "Oh, well. If the old man hasn't left or decided to skimp out on me, I can still get the money and head back home."

Fate seemed to love hitting him with surprises, though.

"You're not going anywhere, young man. Not with what you've done tonight." The stern voice of a woman made him spin back around. The one who had spoken to him was one with blonde hair, green eyes, glasses and the attire that made her look more like someone's secretary than anything else. To his incredulity and amusement, she had a riding crop in hand that was pointed in his direction. First impressions dictated that she was someone attempting to be a hero, an old lady trying to get back into her glory days. So naturally, he gave a scoff and briefly spread his arms out in taunt.

"And just who do you think you are?"

"Not important." Was the blunt answer. "Either you can come quietly, or I will detain you by force."

Irritation was already starting to settle back on Eachann's face. Without hesitation and with the speed of a natural gunslinger, he pulled his revolver from its holster and pointed the barrel at the woman. To his credit, the only reaction was a tightening of the hand holding her crop. "Look, old hag!" He snapped. "This night has already been bad enough without a heroic wannabe like you showing up! Now how's about you step aside before I have to put a bullet in that wrinkly a-"

He wouldn't get to finish before the loud bang of a gun was heard from the ladder's direction. All of a sudden, his pistol was torn from his grip and slid to the other end of the roof until it stopped at the edge. Naturally, both he and she turned surprised eyes towards the source of the shot. What had previously been a scythe was now similar to a portable cannon, the barrel smoking from the freshly fired bullet. The girl who aimed it at Eachann had one of her eyes shut with a dark purple half-circle tracing the underside – the same eye Eachann had unloaded his bullet into. Thanks to that altercation, she had an understandably angry expression on her face and looked like she was ready to fire again without provocation.

Even if the older woman was just playing hero, it wouldn't change the fact that resistance was futile now. He closed his eyes and gave a heavy sigh, placing his hands on the back of his head and getting to his knees. There was only one thing he said that summed up his situation and feelings very well.

"Yep. Dad's so not going to be happy with me."

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**A/N: **

Gwyn = A Welsh name meaning "white" or "blessed".

Eachann Darcy = "Brown Horse of the Dark".


	3. Question 2 - Can You Handle It?

**CHAPTER TWO: Can You Handle It?**

Eachann's luck couldn't possibly get any lower.

After he and the girl he had shot (much to his surprise) had been detained by the mysterious woman, he had been made to sit in the confines of an interrogation room. Thankfully, his revolver had been recovered. But it had also been confiscated for the remainder of the time he would spend here, according to the old hag. With his luck, they probably took it with the intent to keep it as an effort to keep him from "being harmful towards himself or others". He was in the nest of the enemy, defenseless and nerve-wracked, and he had no idea how to get out of it. Just what exactly would they do with him, now that they had rendered him helpless?

He was looking downwards with a downtrodden countenance as he sat at that accursed table. His father may have been far from the most noble of men. But he still had trust in his son, the faith for him to see jobs through to the end. Getting himself apprehended like this was a breach of that trust, a clear sign of incompetence and worthlessness. Even if he somehow managed to escape this proverbial corner, there was no guarantee he would be safe from punishment once he was back in the company of his father. Why would he be, considering how deep his grave had been dug?

His fingers anxiously scratched at the table as he tried to mentally prepare himself. He knew what they would do. They knew his name and where he came from – a downside to being a prominent figure of the criminal underworld. He knew what they would do to him. They would prod him for information, interrogate him, squeeze every delicious drop of meat out of his thought processes. They would try to break his will and make him bend to theirs. But he still had his loyalty to his father. He would die before he said anything. Even so, his decision of defiance didn't help the fear crawling through every inch of his nerves.

Even after he kept vital info from their ears, what then? They would either imprison or kill him, and he was certain he was going to go down the latter road. Although the targets were always under the dark influence of morality, his crimes were unthinkable. That gunshot to that scythe-wielding girl's face certainly didn't help his case any. Once his fate was decided, there would be no one to help him. No one under his father would dare jeopardize security just for his benefit. Not even Briscoe would dare raise a finger for his own son and risk Vale's doughnut-eating cops bearing down on him. It was just too foolish a decision to make, yet it would've worked wonders against the boy's dread. He took in a deep breath, trying to force his fears down as best as he could.

"Not gonna tell them anything." He muttered to himself. "Not gonna say anything, not gonna do anything. Just gonna sit here and remain silent."

"And what good would that do anyone?" A voice, deep and rich with the tone of a nobleman, questioned to him.

All senses went on the alert, and he jerked his head up to look at the source of the words. What he saw and correctly identified seconds later was the form of his interrogator, although it certainly was far from expected. He was a senior of age, though certainly far from decrepit or fragile. He stood tall despite a considerably short stature, wearing a dark brown suit coat over a dark blue tunic suit and pants, with black socks and dress shoes. A red scarf, slim and small, was situated comfortably around the neck where a tie should've been. For natural appearance, he had gray hair neatly tied in a low ponytail that reached past the shoulders, blue eyes with slight bags underneath, and a golden circular ring that hung from the left ear. The casual and almost informal way he carried himself made it seem like he wasn't there for forcing out information. It wasn't until his next words were spoken that this notion would be wiped away.

"Keeping yourself silent is just going to make you look guiltier than you really are." He said, sliding into the chair in front of the table. He continued to employ that smooth-talker impression, obviously trying to see how far he could go before his victim turned into a pile of chillaxed mush. "After all, you did shoot that girl in the face, and technically she was nothing more than a bystander. In addition, there's the obvious fact of you attempting to rob the store in the first place. Are you certain that you want to dig that grave?"

_Button your lip!_

Eachann abruptly straightened himself up, putting on a mask of dispassion and stoicism as he stared at the man. This gave birth to what would've been a deafening silence if not for the buzzing of the overhead light. He felt the sharpened gaze of the interrogator's eyes spearing his own, despite the casual visage they portrayed. Although he was trying his best not to show signs of breaking, he was sure that his eyes were flickering in the slightest involuntarily manner possible. It was inconceivable that someone that held such a friendly countenance could still be so intimidating. Or was that just because of the situation he was in?

"I suppose you know why I'm here, don't you?" The man drawled, placing both of his hands on the table. "I'm here for information. The ones that picked you up also happened to record what transpired between you, the other child and Roman's group. We've all come to agree that not just any street thug learns how to fight like that. An ordinary street thug also wouldn't dare rob such a prominent Dust store without either backup or some sort of plan. So you can make this easier on yourself, start telling me the "how", "where" and "why", and we can end this without any sort of trouble. But if you decide to keep up the silly act of being silent... well..."

His gaze hardened. "I can't guarantee you'll be leaving this room in one piece, or at all for that matter."

There was no emotion with that tone, with any personal feelings he had on the matter successfully guarded within a veil of cold finality. It sent a vicious chill down Eachann's spine to listen to it, to stare into those judging eyes as he listened to it. He mentally cursed as his hands trembled, betraying the attempt of a disinterested attitude. He was severely tempted to talk, break his act of silence in favor of stopping the torture. The loyalty string was the only thing keeping him from squealing like a pig.

"...That is what I would've said if I was a police officer."

And just like that, the snapped strings repaired themselves. Eachann's face twisted from false stoicism to genuine befuddlement as his eyes saw their opponent's relent. The ice within the man's expression suddenly melted and evaporated in favor of an air of amusement. He could only muster up one word to convey what he felt. "What?!"

"Got you good, didn't I?" The man remarked, giving a rather cheeky smile and leaning back in his chair. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not someone under the law... or at least, not someone who's directly under law enforcement. The woman that detained you, one professor Glynda Goodwitch, also isn't one."

In the process of getting over himself and processing the fact that the intimidating aura had been nothing more than a ruse, Eachann let out a light scoff of disbelief. "Oh, really?" He asked with clear disbelief and distrust. He had no reason to take any of the words spoken seriously; police or not, he was still a detainee with possibly little to no chance of getting released any time soon. "If you aren't police, then why are you doing their business? Are you supposed to be vigilantes or something like that?"

"Hunters." The man answered, the smile slowly fading away. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you about what those are, do I?"

"Oh, you're Hunters, are you?" Eachann made sure to put a taste of incredulity in his gradually mocking words. "Well, aren't you supposed to be killing Grimm, slaying monsters and all of that heroic crap? I figured you guys would have better things to do than go wrangling up scraps of criminal scum like me, putting the good old criminal-catching boys and girls out of their jobs." The last statement was bathed in a candy coat of sarcasm, just to rub the taunt against the man's composure. It was clear that he was forgetting just what kind of situation he was in. Even if the scare tactics were a joke, they still held the truth that he was being held over a pit of fire and could be dropped at any time.

But fortunately and much to his chagrin, those words bounced off an armor he didn't know was being worn. The man's composure did not waver in the slightest, his tone continuing to carry symmetry with pure water. "Ah, it's a common misconception that we are meant solely to protect the remaining civilizations on Remnant from Grimm. We are meant to keep order and deal with threats that the law cannot handle." A small smile graced his face once more. "Even if those threats happen to consist of children like you-"

A pair of hands slammed into the table before he could finish his statement.

"Do not. Call me a child." Eachann growled, having stood up from his chair and fixed a cold glare at the Hunter. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was someone addressing him as a preteen. He was seventeen years old and heading into adult territory. As far as he was concerned, he had earned his way out of childhood early. The last thing he wanted was to be referred to as something he wasn't a fan of – specifically, something he hated. He made sure to convey every bit of that opinion into his glare.

The Hunter didn't give an inch. He stared into those glaring eyes with a challenging raise of the eyebrow and an inquiry. "Is there really a reason why I shouldn't?" He questioned. "An adult certainly wouldn't have gotten himself into this situation, criminal or otherwise. You, however, have made so many glaring mistakes that you'd have to be a blind man not to see them. If that is not the makings of a child, then surely they must be that of an infant-"

He had to stop himself and raise his hands up when the table was suddenly flipped towards him, his palms stopping the wood before it could crash into his body. Without a second's hesitation, he raised one of his legs and kicked it back towards the one who had thrown it. But unlike the Hunter, who had been prepared for an attack, Eachann had not expected a counter-attack so swift. The table's underside collided with his form as he attempted to get up, resulting in both him and his chair getting intimate with the floor. The chair was slow to rise, but Eachann was not; he shot up on his feet and bared his teeth at the man who got up from his own chair so leisurely. The amused grin on the man's face was enough to up the temperature of Eachann's blood to white-hot.

"Still hungry for a fight, wolf?" He taunted, with an entertained gaze mildly tainted by the spark of malevolence had projected moments before. He spread his arms out in goading, trying to keep the fire fueled. "Well, all right. I suppose this old man has enough time to entertain. Let's see what you've got, child."

With a roar, Eachann threw himself at his newly established opponent.

It was noted how short the Hunter really was. Eachann himself was a bit of a dwarf compared to the average person of his age group. But this man was only a fourth of a head taller than he was. So range of the arm and leg wouldn't be a problem, and the wolf could throw kicks and punches at the face without having to overextend himself any. He made liberal use of that advantage as he attacked the Hunter, his strikes aggressive and coordinated. His style was a blend of the old arts, judo and silat, focusing primarily on redirecting his enemy's limbs in order to deliver strikes to vital areas. His aggression and tenacity was enough to push his foe back into a retreat.

But despite everything thrown, it wasn't enough to break the Hunter's form or his composure. Punches and kicks were parried, slapped aside or otherwise countered with general ease. Limb grapples and locks backfired, as the Hunter moved his arms and legs in such a way that he could snake them out of Eachann's hold before any follow-up could occur. The few blows that did connect were often short of vital targets, courtesy of timed shifting of the body. In the seconds that passed by, the Hunter showed that he could not only defend himself against such a skilled attack, he could do it as naturally as a bird could fly. Being aware of that fact was starting to convert Eachann's boiling blood into magma, especially when the Hunter spoke as if he was dealing with a sparring buddy.

"Ah, so that's the style you used?"

One of Eachann's punches was caught and his arm was reigned in so that an elbow could be brought down near the side of the neck. The blow caught the wolf by surprise, which was overtaken by a severe amount of pain when the Hunter delivered a swift chop to the actual neck side. He couldn't help the noise that escaped his throat, which was somewhere between an angry snarl and an agonized moan. In that brief instant, the Hunter's hand had become a needle that injected the poison of mortification. The drug was quick to spread through the body when a kick connected with his flank and his head was reigned in for a knee to slam into his face. That last blow was enough to knock him own his back, the force making both vision and thought processes swim aimlessly.

"The Wrangling Bull." The Hunter summarized, stepping away from Eachann's fallen form and lowering his arms to his sides. "A fighting style that uses joint-manipulation and displacement of an enemy's stance in order to take them down. The Bloody Sneakers popularized it, made it their trademark in fighting against cops when necessary. It's also made to cripple a pursuer to ensure escape. Your father trained you quite extensively with it, didn't he? Someone like you is just too good for the likes of him."

"Shut up!" Eachann hollered, springing up to his feet and rushing the Hunter with reckless abandon. "You don't know anything about me!"

This time, his attack was uncoordinated and left him wide open. A high kick was caught, and he was once again floored by a trip of his other leg. His landing on his side was followed by the Hunter's shoe stomping on his flank, which earned a bark of protest. The Hunter didn't pay much heed to it, however. "On the contrary," He said, his calm tone laced with a hint of cruelty. "I know everything about you. Being the son of such a notorious crime boss doesn't come with benefits of secrecy, after all. But even the streetears don't know the things I do. They don't know the things you've seen and done on your so-called "assignments". They don't know the people you've hurt and the kind of lives you've taken. And most importantly, they don't know what killed your mother."

Now Eachann's composure was starting to change. The boiling and burning anger slowly gave way to wariness and uncertainty, the words burying themselves into him. The vagueness of the Hunter's claim, had the words been spoken by anyone else, would've certainly been dismissed as bluffs. But the utter confidence, the lack of hesitation in every syllable and the very nature of his voice made it very hard to shrug off the possibility of truth. The nail would only go deeper once the Hunter knelt beside his quarry, asking one lonely question.

"Do you really think that someone shot her?"

Eachann's mind stopped in its tracks, his mental processes focusing on those eight words.

Tsisana. The boy hadn't known her from birth. But Briscoe always spoke good of her when the subject of her came up. According to him, she was beautiful, very spirited, had a penchant for being feisty and served as the "light" to his darkness. Shortly after he had been born, she had been murdered in a drive-by shooting conducted by a rival gang of the aforementioned Bloody Sneakers. That was the sole truth he knew about her demise, and it was reinforced every time it was mentioned. But hearing this accusation of that fate not being her own was a cannon to his fortress walls. If the Hunter was telling the truth, then how did Tsisana really die? Why did Briscoe lie about it? And why did this man know so much about it?

But before he could part his lips, the Hunter stood back up again. "Nevertheless," He said dismissively to Eachann's shocked form. "That is a story for another time. Right now, I have a proposition for you."

"...and that would be?" Eachann inquired, a simmering bitterness in his tone.

"I'd like for you to come to Beacon Academy, as a student."

There was only a brief silence before Eachann let out a sarcastic laugh. "Oh, that's a good one, old man!" He sneered, pushing himself up to a sitting position. His vision was spinning too much for him to get up on his feet just yet, much to his chagrin. "All this good cop, bad cop stuff led me to believe that you weren't meant for the comedy business. But seriously, cut the crap and tell me what you want."

This time, there was silence. A turn of the Hunter's head, and Eachann would see the unflappable stare within those blue eyes. That was enough to push out any idea that the suggestion was jocular. The sarcastic smile on his face slowly faded away, and he fixed the elder man with a glare of incredulity. "You're not joking?" He asked, wanting to confirm it. "You actually want me, a blood-born thug, to join a school with the rest of the brats wanting to be monster slayers? You sure you didn't hit your head getting out of bed this morning?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

The Hunter turned around, folding his hands behind his back and taking on the stance of a butler. "For one," He said with that accursed silkiness coating his words. "I see potential in you. I see potential in any child who is brave enough to acquire their arms and do battle, despite the reasons for doing so. In a time like this, those like you serve as the dormant light to civilization on Remnant." He began to pace around, his hand a baton with the emphasizing gestures it made. "A light waiting to extinguish the darkness that consumes the majority of our world. You are Remnant's keys in pushing back the Grimm and restoring the world to what it once was. However, there are keys like you that are bent, disjointed and pointed in the wrong direction. I aim to fix those keys in particular, keep the younger generation from destroying itself before the Grimm can get to it first."

Despite the rather poetic choice of words, Eachann snorted in disdain. "So in other words, you want us to win your war for you? Do your own dirty work."

"You don't have much of a choice, in the matter."

"Oh?"

"Have you forgotten where you are right now?" The Hunter gave the subtlest of smug smirks when he saw Eachann's cocky attitude falter upon hearing that. He turned back around to face the boy. "Having you detained wasn't what I had in mind when I requested to invite you. But if you can't find any interest as a potential Hunter-to-be, then the only other choice I can offer you is your transfer from my watch to the police's. I am a protector of the people, after all, and you are a thief with a charge of battery on his head. I'm aware that what I'm proposing puts you completely out of your "comfort zone", but if I were in your shoes, I would take the route of less misfortune."

To outright betray his father and everything he believed in for possible sanctuary, or stick to his guns and become a statistic of Vale's prisons? The man certainly drove a hard bargain.

"...why do you even care?" Eachann asked in a mixture of confusion and resentment, trying to buy himself time to make the decision. "I'm sure there are plenty of brats just ripe for the picking. Why go after me, of all people?"

"I told you." The Hunter gave a light shrug of the shoulders. "I see potential in you. But it's entirely up to you whether or not that potential can be seen. What is your choice?"

Now or never. Eachann closed his eyes, took in a deep breath and gave a slow exhale. "...fine." He said grudgingly. "But don't expect me to act like the perfect, straight-A student."

"Of course." The man answered smoothly. But if Eachann listened carefully, he could hear the slightest hints of cheer. With a slight nod of emphasis, he turned around and walked towards the doorway. "Now, would you kindly wait here for a moment? I brought something for you, a sort of gift for accepting my proposal."

A gift? What gift could possibly relieve the fact that Eachann had subjected himself to such a shameful life? What could make him feel ease, knowing that he was going to spend four of his years alongside the most ignorant of the masses? Despite his cynicism, he couldn't keep himself from raising a curious eyebrow at the Hunter's retreating back. The most he suspected it to be was some Lien – his usual gift for accomplishing something. But the man already showed a habit out of catching him off guard. If whatever he brought back blew his theory out of the water, then it would be expected.

Sure enough, what was brought back earned his interest. In one hand, the Hunter held a pair of what looked like knuckle-protection gloves. In his other hand, he carried a bag full of spherical objects. Despite the feeling that they were more than what they looked like, Eachann let out a light scoff. "What's this supposed to be?" He asked sarcastically, resting his arms on his knees. "Trying to get me in on the latest fashion trend?" Needless to say and much to his irritation, his jeering comment did nothing to phase the other man.

"Chiro." The Hunter said in an explanatory tone. "It was something I had crafted long before this moment came." As he neared Eachann, he leveled the gloves to view so that they could be viewed better. The center of each wrist sported a spherical hole, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that whatever contained inside the bag was meant to fill that hole. "Since you're so attuned to fighting with your bare hands, I believed you needed a weapon to better suit your style. In addition, it would fare much better against Grimm."

That's right. No longer would he be dealing with targets of the humanoid kind. With him being assimilated into the life of a hunting student, creatures would take the place of the sentient beings he usually took on. His fight for survival would be on a completely different level, and unlike before where he had the close guidance of his father, he would be completely alone. He knew how the schools worked; the professors only threw tests and lectures at you while the students were just as clueless as he would be.

But one glance of the gloves prompted skepticism on Eachann's face. "These are supposed to help me kill those beasts? I expected something more potent."

"They may not look like much." The Hunter assured him, reaching the gloves over and allowing them to be taken away. "On their own, they're nothing but ordinary gloves. But with these," He moved the bag to an angle where the wolf could see the maw, opening it to reveal the contents inside. "They can become one of the most effective weapons you could have against a creature of Grimm."

Black pearls. That was what rested in the bag, comfortable and waiting for their soon-to-be master's touch. Keeping the gloves in one hand, he reached out with the other to pluck one from its confines. He swept it fully with his eyes, regarding it with curiosity and wonder. "How do they work?"

"They're AC Crystals, with the "AC" short for "Adapter Core"." The Hunter replied, maintaining his pose. "They store large amounts of Dust energy that are the same "type". Those particular crystals crystals use Dust energy related to poison, ranging from simple paralysis to internal and external destruction. Combined with your hand-to-hand skills, they have the potential to bring down just about any target that happens to get in your way. You will need them, for certain."

After looking at the Hunter with scrutiny, Eachann tossed the crystal with the rest and slowly rose to a stand. He dusted himself off before reaching to take the bag the Hunter so generously offered to him. "Don't expect me to try to make you proud." He grumbled with a slight shake of the head. "I'm not aiming to please anyone but myself. I'll dance to your tune so as long as you keep me out of the slammer. But I'm sure won't like it."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." The Hunter answered, not bothering to hide the smirk this time. "Good luck, young man."

With a scoff, Eachann moved past him towards the exit door. But he immediately stopped afterward, a thought occurring to him. Despite being put in a bad position because of it, the elder man had demonstrated exceptional tact. He had plucked the right strings, put the food in the right spot and sprung the trap at the right time. He showed that he had both immense skill in combat and strategy, proving himself to be a formidable adversary. He had to be given credit where it was due, even if the boy didn't like him. So he turned to look over his shoulder at the Hunter, who was regarding him with a somewhat curious look.

"What's your name, old man?"

The Hunter took on a smile, which was more pleasant than the earlier smirk.

"Othniel. Othniel Cheshire. Don't forget it, okay?"

* * *

The name "Othniel Cheshire" was the last thing on his mind two days later, when he was riding along with other students in an airship towards the prestigious combat school.

It turned out that at least a lot more people knew him as a criminal than he thought. From the moment he stepped into the area of occupation, there had been countless stares aimed in his direction. His ears could easily pick up the whisperings, the judgmental words of gossipers as they selected him as a target. Not that it was anything he couldn't handle; they were simply words and nothing more, after all. As a matter of fact, he embraced the first impressions made of him. It meant that not only there would be a lot more people that wouldn't bug him, but his name was one to be wary of and feared. If there was one thing that he absolutely loved, it was a good impression.

Unfortunately, that very same popularity earned him just as much ground as a bull's-eye target as a "celebrity".

After having his walking path momentarily cut off by a stumbling blonde boy with presumable motion sickness (for all he knew, that could've been an extreme case of holding back laughter), he was hauled off his feet by the front of his jacket and slammed into the nearest wall back first. Now he was staring into the angry eyes of what he could summarize as a "street beauty". She was a long-haired blonde who wore a leather jacket with puffy cuffs, with the hints of a yellow crop-top poking out from the chest area. This was combined with an orange scarf around the neck, black shorts with a pleated skirt around her backside, and boots containing socks of differing length. She was a bit slender compared to most other women he had shamelessly ogled, but she still held a sense of sexual appeal about her. Had it not been for the fact that she was holding him up against the wall, he would've gladly started off this conversation with a flirtatious comment.

Naturally, he settled for a different approach.

"Lady, haven't you heard of not getting physical at the first-"

His sarcastic alternative earned him another slam of his back and head into the wall, and he let out a painful hiss as the pain shot through his spine. His hands shot to the bracelet-wearing wrists of the one who held him captive, but he took no action in prying them off. Instead, he chose to glare defiantly into those lilac eyes. "Shut up!" She growled. "The last thing you want to do is mouth off to me right now."

Eachann's upper lip curled in annoyance. "I don't even know you, woman!" He said vehemently, earning a rueful smirk from her.

"Oh? You mean she didn't happen to tell you?" She questioned rhetorically, causing him to cock a slight eyebrow. "You know the one whose eye you shot out, one Ruby Rose?"

"What are you, her girlfriend or something?" He wasn't intending to put sarcasm in that question. She might have been just a friend, but his personal definition of "friend" didn't involve going violent on the one that did them harm. It was the only rational conclusion he could come to. But another slam against the wall indicated that not only the guess was wrong, it also angered the blonde even more.

"I'm her older sister!" She snapped. "And the only reason you're not a puddle right now is because she didn't want me to!"

That was when heard that familiar and mouse-like voice call out to the blonde.

"Yang, stop it! You're drawing attention to yourself!"

Both golden-yellow and lilac eyes turned to see the familiar figure of Ruby Rose, now complete with a patch covering her right eye – the very same one Eachann had unloaded a non-lethal Dust round into. She had an anxious expression on her face as she approached, her hands held up in a placating manner as if physically trying to cool down her proclaimed sister. But the girl known as Yang would have none of it, refusing to release the wolf from her hold.

"Ruby, he shot out your eye!"

"I know, but this isn't going to bring it back! Come on, just let him go-"

Unfortunately, that was when Eachann realized that Yang had turned her attention off of him.

Without a moment's hesitation, he lifted his legs between himself and her before thrusting them into her midsection. His soles collided with the skin of her stomach, and she let out a surprised grunt as she was sent skidding on her back. As for him, he landed on his rear with a grunt of his own. He was quick to recover, scrambling to his feet and fixing a glare at the blonde as she struggled to get herself back up. He was barely aware of the eyes on them, barely aware of Ruby as she grew more and more frantic. But he ignored it all in favor of singling out the one who had gotten in his face. Even if she was pretty, he wasn't going to let it slide.

"You think it's that easy taking me out, huh?!" He snarled, putting forth a little bit of a growl in his voice for dramatic effect. He stormed up to her, stopping when he was just within arms' reach. His legs spread apart and his arms bent in a preparatory empty-handed stance. "I'll show you, Blondie! I'll smear that pretty face of yours all over this airship!"

This made her rise even quicker, and she uttered a challenging growl in response – a sound that sent a soul-shaking chill down his spine. Even in his anger, he couldn't help the malicious grin that crept across his face as she settled into a stance of her own – a boxing stance. Now, the onlookers that had been paying so much interest in the conflict were now starting to rally, with cries of "Fight!" echoing through the airship. The sounds were causing the temperature of his blood to rise, every nerve and muscle tingling with anticipation and excitement. It was certainly going to be a fun start to his school year – a fight with a potentially strong opponent. He was going to put forth everything in crushing her.

Neither combatant would get to exchange any blows, however.

"There he is!"

Eachann wouldn't get the chance to turn around before an arm, hard with muscle, wrapped around his neck and pulled him out of his stance. His eyes widened, and reflexively grabbed the arm in an attempt to pull it off. The one it belonged to, however was someone that made it clear he wouldn't be shaken off easily. He stood seven feet tall, his form looming over the majority of the crowd. Long and stringy black hair fell down past the shoulders, partially covering silver eyes with its bangs. He wore a T-shirt with dark green sleeves, blue jeans and dark green tennis shoes. The most noticeable trait of his appearance, however, was the unsightly scar that went across his throat. Any possible protests the crowd could've had was silenced by his imposing build. After all, who in their right mind would challenge someone like that?

He wasn't the one who had spoken up, though. Trailing him was a shorter boy with a much less scarier frame. He had short, black hair that went down to the neck and green eyes. For clothing, he wore a black beanie that was wrapped comfortably around his head, matching fingerless gloves, a gray featureless hoodie, blue jean shorts and white tennis shoes. He had his hands on his hips as he looked at the crowd, a Boston-accented voice swelling over them in a confident and commanding tone. "All right, people, nothing to see here! Just a mistake in communication, that's all! Everything's under control, nothing to see here!" He began waving his hands about in order to shoo the crowd away. "Go on, scatter! We're about to land, for Dust's sake! Get up on out of here!"

"What is this?!" Eachann demanded, struggling to get himself out of the tall boy's vice grip. "What do you think you're doing?! Let me go, you big lummox!"

His protests, however, would go unanswered by both of the newcomers. The short one took the time to address Ruby and Yang, who were now regarding them with confusion as the crowd scattered around them. He gave a small smirk as well as a courteous bow before introducing himself. "Nice to meet you fine ladies. The name's Torsten Althaus, and the big guy's name is Herman Castle. I'd stick around and get to know you for a bit more, but I wouldn't want our friend here causing any more trouble, don't you agree?"

"I'm not your friend!" Eachann yelled, his eyes shut and his teeth bared as he continued to struggle. "Get off me, you slug!" Following this, he decided he had enough of being nice with his motions. He pulled one of his arms forward, slamming the bone of his elbow into his burden's stomach. But much to his shock, it felt as if he was hitting a brick wall. Additionally, the so-called Herman didn't even flinch from the strike as he continued to look on silently at the other three. A second blow didn't change anything, only serving to make his arm gain the beginnings of an ache. Just what exactly was this guy made of?

"You guys are his friends?" Yang asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow and relaxing her stance much to Ruby's relief.

"Yeah." Torsten said, folding his arms across his chest and giving a nod over towards the captive. "He's got problems with his anger, as you can plainly tell. Gets loose from us now and again, so we have to keep our eyes open and a fresh newspaper to bop him on the nose with whenever we have to." He grinned when the two girls chuckled slightly, pleased to see that he had lightened up the atmosphere somewhat. "So, yeah. We'll probably see you later on in the Assembly Hall. Hope you don't mind incredibly long and boring speeches, because I'm sure we'll all be in for one." He turned his head to his partner, giving a gesturing nod towards the direction where the rest of the students were going. "Come on, Herman. Let's go."

"I swear to all that is holy in Remnant, I will kill all of you if you don't let me go!" Eachann screeched, continuing to struggle as he was hauled off. "Are you even listening to me?! Open your ears before I rip them off those fat skulls of yours! Get off!" Unsurprisingly, his angry cries went unanswered, and the closest thing to a response was him being shifted so that he could be carried in one arm. He continued to yell and scream even as he and his "friends" turned a corner, disappearing from the sight of the two sisters. In turn, the girls regarded that direction in befuddlement for a few more seconds before turning to each other.

"Well," Yang stated blandly. "That happened."

Ruby opened her mouth to answer back, but was stopped when a pain shot through her affected eye. A hand instantly shot up to the patch, her palm pressing against it and her mouth uttering a soft moan. That snapped Yang out of whatever mood that had been influenced by the humor of their situation, replacing it with sisterly concern. She jumped to the side of the younger girl, her face expressing clear worry and slight panic. "What? What is it?"

"Another spike." Ruby whimpered, breathing in and out to keep herself calm. "It'll pass..."

When she said "spike", she was referring to the occasional spikes of pain that shot through her skull. They were far from pleasant; each and every time she felt one, it seemed like her skull was going to crack open. According to Ozpin and Goodwitch, the extent of damage to her eye was so severe that the only remedy was to remove it in surgery – something that she was greatly against. Her fear and stubborn refusal to undergo the surgery eventually won out, and she was only treated with the patch as well as pain medicine in order to suppress the spikes. It didn't stop them completely, and this was one of the occasions in where they made themselves prominent.

Thankfully, it only lasted for a few seconds before dulling, allowing Ruby the dignity of thinking clearly again. She lowered her palm from her patch and sighed unhappily. "Can't believe I have to live with this." She muttered, closing her remaining eye. A hint of a tear could be seen forming at the corners. "I don't get it, Yang. Why would he do that to me? I was only trying to..." She didn't finish her sentence, wiping at the eye before the liquid misery could start flowing.

"Don't worry about him." Yang was quick to deter her from the subject of the wolf. She wrapped an arm around the young girl's shoulders and brought her into a gentle hug. "We're at Beacon now. That's all that matters." Her grin grew wide in an effort of encouragement. "Here's where we show 'em what we're made of. Right?"

Ruby's smile was slightly weaker than it should've been, but satisfied Yang nonetheless. "Yeah." She said softly, giving a few nods and doing her best to straighten up. "No one's gonna stop the sister duo."

"Now there's the Ruby Rose I know!" Yang cheered, her arm giving those shoulders a brief squeeze before letting go. "Say, why don't you go on ahead? I'll catch up."

"Huh?" Ruby regarded her with surprise for a moment, blinking a few times for emphasis. But after processing the request in her mind, she decided to go along with it. "Well, okay. I'll be waiting outside, then..." With that being said, she turned around and walked in the direction of the airship exit. "I'll see you there."

As she watched the cape-clad scythe-wielder walk off, Yang's smile slowly faded away. She gave a heavy sigh, placing her hands on her hips and carrying a somewhat weary look on her face. It hurt to see her little sister like this, pushed away from the cheery and naive spirit and into the mood of a kid who had just seen her puppy get run over. She hadn't deserved any of this, hadn't asked for the misery of the random and torturous migraines. Yet it had been delivered to her with a cherry on top. All of it was because some street punk decided it a good idea to put a bullet in her head.

She looked over her shoulder in the direction where Eachann had been unwillingly carted off, baring her teeth and glaring daggers at the thought of him. Then she turned around and followed the path where Ruby had went. Though she kept her gait as casual as possible, there was still anger within the steps that she took. "He better hope that he doesn't cross paths with me again." She growled. "Because if he does..."

She raised a hand in front of her, her fingers curling into a fist. For the briefest of moments, her eyes flashed a dangerous red and that fist was ignited with fire. They would only last for less than a second before disappearing. But the intent was made ever so clear.

"So help me..."

* * *

**A/N:** I can't lie. Writing this chapter was somewhat painful at the end. So deeply sorry for Ruby fans who had to endure reading this.

Briscoe = "Birch Wood"  
Othniel = "Lion of God"  
Torsten Althaus = "Stone of the Old House"  
Herman Castle = "Army Man of the Castle"


End file.
